


Angels Awaking

by moonstone (amythestice)



Series: Angels series [2]
Category: Angels & Demons (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Gen, Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-06 14:51:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amythestice/pseuds/moonstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick McKenna is now Pope, but strange things are starting to happen to him. Follow up to Angels Rising.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He woke with a start, his hand slapping down on the lamp switch beside the bed, his eyes flashing around the room as he forced himself to ignore the pain of going from dark to light too fast. Rubbing his watering eyes, he sat up, looking around more slowly, everything was in its place, and all was silent, not a hint of the mocking, cruel laughter that had disturbed his sleep. Just a bad dream, he sighed mentally, or to be more precise, just another bad dream, it was growing tiresome, not getting a full night's sleep, and worse, it was starting to affect him during the day, he was becoming tired, cranky, and his Camerlengo was beginning to hint less than subtly that perhaps he needed to talk about whatever was bothering him.

He threw back the covers, getting up and wrapping his robe around himself, leaving the bedroom for the sitting room, moving the fireguard and poking the fire back to life. Kneeling in front of it, he let the flames warm him, and contemplated 'talking about it'; how could he tell Strauss, how could he tell anyone that he had started dreaming of demons in St Peter's square, of hearing evil laughter as they sought to release something truly horrific on the Earth.

He almost jumped right out of his skin as there was a light tap at the door.

"Come," he called without looking away from the flames.

"Is everything ok, your Holiness? It is very late."

He smiled faintly, looking back over his shoulder at Chartrand, who hovered in the doorway.

"I would have said horrifically early, personally. I couldn't sleep."

"Would you like for me to send for your physician? Perhaps he can give you something to help you sleep. You have been…tired…of late."

"Are you and my Camerlengo ganging up on me now?" he asked, amused as Chartrand blushed and stammered a denial.

"Never mind, I don't need my doctor, and I don't want anything to help me sleep, its fine," he said, shuddering faintly at the thought of being drugged asleep, of having one of those dreams and not being able to wake from it.

Rising from his spot before the fire, he wandered over to the window, looking down into the silent, deserted St Peter's square, certainly no demons, he thought self-deprecatingly, starting to turn away from the glass. A flare of light made him look again, and he froze to see two stately winged figures dressed in white in the square, their heads together, and worried looks on their faces.

Gabriel, Raphael, something whispered in his mind, and he stumbled back from the glass as he was hit with an almost physical wave of aching familiarity; it was too much, and he crumpled limply to the floor.

Chartrand cried out in shock as the Holy Father collapsed, hurrying to his side, hesitating for just a moment to look out and see what could have startled him so down in the square, but there was nothing there, it was as silent and unmoving as it should be at this hour. Dismissing it, he turned and knelt beside the unconscious pontiff, easing him onto his back and checking his pulse. It was strong and steady, and there was no hint of distress in his peaceful expression, but Chartrand was taking no chances, he looked at the other two guards who stood in the doorway, worried expressions on their faces.

"One of you call in and get his physician sent up here, now, the other, go and fetch the Camerlengo, he needs to know that the Holy Father has collapsed," he ordered.

/x/

Daylight was filtering in through the window when Pope Michael woke to the somewhat unwelcome sight of the Papal apartment's medical suite. Sitting up, he went to throw the covers back, hesitating at the sound of his doctor's voice.

"All due respect, your Holiness, but if you so much as think about getting up before I tell you that you can, I will tie you to the bed. You're exhausted; you must rest before you really make yourself ill."

"I feel fine, I am fine," he protested.

"You are not fine, you have been tired, irritable, and last night you fainted. You have a heavy workload in the next few weeks, a lot of travelling; you need to mind your health."

Patrick bit down on the sharp retort he had almost made, determined not to prove the doctor right, but the man's raised eyebrow indicated that he hadn't fooled him for a second.

"Fine, so I've been having a little trouble sleeping, and I've been a little tense, it happens. You of all people know I've had sleeping issues on and off for years, they always pass."

"Yes, but they also always have a trigger, and you're usually a lot more forthcoming about what is causing your insomnia."

"I've been having nightmares," Patrick admitted grudgingly.

"Would you like to talk about them?"

"No, I most definitely wouldn't," he said flatly.

"Alright, I'll give you a couple of days worth of sleeping pills, we'll see if we can knock your sleeping patterns back on track that way."

"No, no drugs."

"Holy Father, you have to get some sleep."

"No."

"As you wish, your Holiness," the doctor sighed.

"So are you going to let me get up now? I have a lot to get done today."

"Absolutely not, you need to try to get some more sleep, even if it's just a few hours. Let your Camerlengo handle things for now."

He sighed and dropped back against the pillows, giving in; perhaps the demons wouldn't creep into his dreams in the daylight.

/x/

Strauss went up to the papal apartments just before midday, finding the doctor before seeking the Pope.

"Doctor, I have some papers that require his Holiness' signature, may I disturb him?"

"You won't be disturbing him, he slept for a while, but he's awake now, I just let him loose, he's dressing now."

"I'm here; did you want me, Camerlengo Strauss?"

"Yes Holiness, I have some papers here that need your signature."

"Come, we'll go to my study then. Thank you, doctor," he nodded to the doctor, before leading Strauss to the study.

"Sit, please," he said to Strauss, taking the file from him and circling the desk to his own chair.

Strauss waited until the Pope was seated before taking the indicated seat, and watched in silence as he read through and signed the papers he had brought, he looked around, realizing that nothing in this room had changed since the last time he had entered this study, when the previous Pope had still been alive.

"I always loved this room just the way it was, I saw no need to change it when my father died," Patrick said, answering his unvoiced curiosity quietly.

Strauss nodded silently, there wasn't much he could say to that, he did sometimes tend to forget that they had been father and son.

He finished signing the papers, and closed the folder, but didn't hand it back to Strauss; he sat and looked at him thoughtfully.

"Can I trust you with a confidence, Camerlengo Strauss?"

"In a confessional sense your Holiness?"

"No, nothing like that, I…I think that perhaps I would like to talk about what has been disturbing my sleep, but if I do, I need it to remain between us."

"You can trust me with anything you wish to."

Patrick nodded, but didn't speak immediately, instead he rose from his seat, gesturing for Strauss to stay seated, and walked over to the window, standing so that he could look down into the square without being seen by any of the people who stood down there.

"What would you say if I told you I have been dreaming of demons?"

"Demons?" Strauss asked, startled.

"Every night for the last eight days, I have dreamed of demons in St Peter's square in the dead of night. Usually the same ones each night, as far as I could tell anyway, but there were others a couple of times. I'm not sure what they're doing, or why, but I, the me in the dream, feels that whatever they're doing, it will bring about immeasurable evil, and every time, I wake to cruel, malicious, taunting laughter."

"That is…certainly strange," Strauss said hesitantly.

"It gets stranger; last night before I thoroughly embarrassed myself by passing out in front of my Swiss Guard, I could swear I saw two Angels standing in the square, looking worried, but the oddest thing about it is the sense of overwhelming certainty that I knew them, that I knew their names."

"What did they look like?" Strauss asked.

Noticing an odd note in Strauss' voice, Patrick turned back to face him again.

"You think I'm losing my mind, don't you?" he asked softly.

"No, no I don't think you are, or perhaps we both are. After the incident with the anti-matter, while you were in the infirmary here, I had a very odd dream about you. I put it down to my subconscious prodding me to stop fighting against the Cardinals desire to elect you to the papacy, I could have asked you, but I didn't feel comfortable calling to your mind something that was possibly still very distressing to you."

"Distressing to me; what was the dream?"

"I dreamed that I entered a church that I have never seen before, almost tripping over a small, redheaded child who was bouncing around looking at the statues and the friezes, his mother called out to him, 'Patrick Niall McKenna…'"

"Come here and stop hopping around like a hoodlum," Patrick said softly, his eyes distant, sad.

"Yes," Strauss said, stunned.

"I heard that at least once a day when I was a child, I was an energetic little thing. That day I gave her the puppy eyes and told her I wanted to look," he said quietly, his eyes still far away, a faint, melancholy smile touching his lips.

"Yes. His, your,mother agreed, as long as you behaved yourself and returned when it grew crowded. I followed you down the left side of the church, watching you studying the friezes; one seemed to pull your attention more than the others, you stepped into the alcove to look at it closer."

"They said afterwards that being in that alcove saved my life, shielded me from the blast, I don't even know what the painting was of, or why it drew me to want a closer look than the others."

"It was the Archangel St Michael, his name was above, and in my dream, the alcove was not all that shielded you. As you stepped inside, an Angel appeared behind you, and sheltered you with his wings as the chaos struck, he lifted you in his arms and looked right at me, the only one who had seen me in the dream, and he told me you were stronger than I imagined you were, and as he turned to face me, the child you became the adult you, and the burning church became the room of tears in the chapel, he laid you on the floor, and vanished."

Patrick stood in silence for a long moment, lost in thought, before returning to his seat across the desk from Strauss.

"The two I saw in the square, one was fair haired, and the other dark, I couldn't see much more in the way of detail, aside from the face, as I said, they looked worried."

"Your protector was dark haired."

Patrick nodded vaguely, staring into the unlit fireplace blankly.

"Are you all right, Holy Father?" Strauss asked uncertainly.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," he said, not entirely convincingly.

"I am sure we will be able to figure out why you have been having these dreams, what they mean."

"Perhaps, but not right now, hmm, we leave tomorrow for our visit," he said, forcing his attention to focus back on his Camerlengo, trying to ignore the questions that were popping up in his mind. Was he really being watched over, why him out of all of the other people who had been in that church that awful day, what did they expect from him.

"Yes, Holiness."

"Thank you for listening."

"Any time."

Strauss took his file and left, pondering on what the Pope had told him, what he was dreaming of. If the dark haired Angel his Holiness had seen in the square before his collapse was the same one Strauss had seen in his dream, then would that mean that the demons he was dreaming of were real, and if so, what in the name of all that was holy were they going to do about it.

/x/

Patrick dropped into the armchair by the fireplace in his bedroom, sighing as he closed his eyes for a moment. It had been a good visit to England and Ireland, and even better, his nightmares had stopped while he was away, not even surfacing after the unfortunate blindside he had caught when he realized that the church where he had been expected to take a mass in Ireland was the same church where he had been orphaned, it's restoration and re-consecration recently completed, but he was glad to be back in Rome. His breathing deepened and his head dropped to the side as he fell asleep in the comfortable chair without ever realizing he was drifting

Patrick tensed instantly, realizing he was standing in St Peter's square in the dead of night, a light mist swirling around his feet in the low breeze that was making his white cassock flutter gently. He heard something scrape on the stones behind him, and a low, menacing chuckle sounded.

"You can't stop us you know, you will be slaughtered with the rest of the sheep, before you ever wake," a guttural voice taunted.

He spun, but there was nothing behind him besides the eddying mist.

"Too slow," the voice sneered, still behind him.

A hand clamped down painfully tightly on his shoulder, and a glance showed leathery fingers, longer than you would find on any human hand, tipped by black claws. Jerking away from the strong grip, he stumbled forward, falling and skinning his palms on the clammy ground as he caught himself. Scrambling to his feet, he realized that laughter was now coming from more than one source, and spinning around, he saw he was now ringed by cackling demons, hemmed in.

"You can't escape us, and the more you fight it, the more it will hurt," the demon who had kept behind him crooned with fake compassion, sharp claws skating lightly over the nape of his neck.

Twisting away again, whiteness slid across his field of vision for a moment, and he thought the mist was rising, but when it cleared, he found himself in his study. A hand on his hurt shoulder made him cry out and pull away, and he found himself on the floor once more, but this time familiar warmth wrapped around him a moment before strong arms pulled him into an embrace. 

"Papa," he whispered, feeling tears sliding down his face.

"Hush child, you're safe now, easy, I have you," his father said gently, rocking him soothingly.

Kneeling there on the floor of the of the study, Martinelli looked up from the top of his son's head, eyes searching the shadows edging the walls until they fell on the figure he sought. Gabriel stepped forward silently, brushing his fingers over the top of Patrick's head, coaxing him into a deep sleep, still held in his father's arms. 

"His sleep will have to be guarded, from tonight until he awakens fully. They cannot touch him in the daylight hours, but in sleep he is vulnerable," Gabriel said.

"I watched over his sleep when he was a child, I will watch over his sleep now."

"I rather thought you might," Gabriel said with a fond smile, watching him.

"If I might ask, what is going to happen to my son, to my Patrick, when he awakens fully?"

Gabriel hesitated for a long moment, and there was genuine sympathy in his eyes when he shook his head.

"We don't know, even God himself does not know for sure."

"It's close, isn't it?"

"Yes, I didn't bring him in here; he did that himself, even though he thinks it part of the dream. It is fortunate that this is somewhere he considers a place of security, if he had taken himself somewhere outside in an effort to escape the attack in the dreamscape, we could not have retrieved him in time, and they would have had him in both the dream and the physical world."

"I will guard him well; I will not let them kill my child."

Gabriel nodded, satisfied with the assurance, and left. Martinelli gathered his sleeping son into a more comfortable position, and sat to watch out the night.

/x/

Patrick woke feeling surprisingly rested, given the dream he had had the night before, though he supposed finding himself secure in his father's arms after escaping the demons in this dream had something to do with that. It wasn't until he made to move that he realized that several things were wrong, one, he was in the wrong room, he was still sleeping in a chair, but he had fallen asleep in his bedroom, and two, he hurt; his hands protested when he rested them against the arms of the chair to push himself up, and his shoulder screamed in agony so strong it almost made him pass out.

Looking at his palms, he saw scrapes and marks that matched his fall in the square in his dream, and for a moment, he thought he had gotten a carpet burn in his apparent bout of sleep walking, but looking closer, he realized there was dirt and small stones in the cuts. He got up carefully, keeping his left arm close to his side and as still as he could, and headed out of his study.

Getting back to his bedroom, he managed to work his way out of his cassock without moving his shoulder too much and making himself pass out. Once he was down to just his trousers, he moved over to the mirror to check his shoulder, to see if he could figure out what was wrong with it. His left shoulder drooped slightly forward, and he could see a distinct displacement on the collar bone on the left side, but that wasn't what scared him, that distinction went to the perfectly defined bruise in the shape of an inhuman hand, right where the demon in his dream had squeezed his shoulder, right where the clavicle was quite clearly broken.

"God, what's happening to me?" he whispered, sinking down on the edge of the bed in shock.

He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there when he realized that someone had been knocking on his door for some time, but it didn't matter that he couldn't work up the will to call out to them, because the door opened, and his guards hurried in, checking out the room warily before focusing on where he sat.

"Dear God," one of them breathed, taking in the dreadful bruise and the bloody, scuffed palms.

"Call the doctor, and get Commandant Richter up here," he said sharply to the others, before kneeling in front of the Pope.

"Holy Father, who did this to you?" he asked, his tone considerable gentler.

Patrick didn't even glance at him, his eyes stayed fixed on his hands as he sat in silence.

"What is going on?" Richter asked, entering the room.

"Not again," he breathed, catching sight of the Holy Father, he couldn't believe that he had been attacked inside the Apostolic palace for a second time.

"We haven't been able to find out who did it, his Holiness isn't talking, at all," one of the guards responded.

"Is the doctor coming?"

"Yes."

The doctor hurried in a moment later, taking in his patient's condition at a glance.

"He's going into shock, help me get him to the medical section, and stay away from that left arm," he said to the two aides who had accompanied him, completely ignoring everyone else in the room.

They got him to his feet, walking him out of the room, leaving the Swiss Guard to try to figure out how someone had gotten to the Pope with someone standing outside the doors all night.

/x/

Patrick felt considerably less disconnected from everything after the doctor had treated the shock, but he still remained silent as he was run through x-ray before his arm was immobilized in a sling, letting the doctor get to work on cleaning and dressing his hands.

"Are you ready to tell me how this happened yet, your Holiness? I can tell that the injuries to your hands at least happened outside somewhere, not indoors, and that bruise on your shoulder is a clear handprint."

Patrick shook his head mutely, and the doctor sighed quietly.

"Can you at least tell me what fractured your clavicle; was it the same pressure that bruised you?"

"I don't know."

He knew he was frustrating the doctor by being uncommunicative, but he didn't feel comfortable talking to him about how this had happened, when he didn't understand it himself, and he really wasn't sure when in the encounter the bone had broken.

"All right, have it your way. I'm going to give you pain killers and anti-inflammatories for your shoulder, I'm hoping we can avoid the need for surgery, so we'll keep it supported in the sling, and monitor it with x-rays to make sure it mends properly."

"Very well."

"All right, I'll get someone to come and help you dress."

"Very well," Patrick agreed again.

Once he was dressed, Patrick withdrew back to his study, starting to go through the things his secretary had left for him, and waiting for the inevitable arrival of his Camerlengo. He wasn't disappointed; he had only been there half an hour when there was a familiar knock at the door.

"Come in," he called.

"Holiness, I heard you had been attacked," Strauss said in concern, stepping into the room.

"Yes, and no, sit please."

Strauss took the indicated seat, and Patrick leaned back in his chair, absently fidgeting with the strap of his sling.

"Do you remember what we discussed, before we left for England?"

"Of course, Holiness, I was pleased that the dreams seemed to have stopped when we were travelling."

"Well, last night they came back with a vengeance. My injuries occurred in the dream, and when I woke, they were real."

"Do you mean that you injured yourself due to the dream, or someone injured you in the dream and you manifested the wounds physically?"

"Both, possibly; I definitely appear to have sleepwalked from my bedroom to my study, I could have fallen then, but the cuts on my hands were made outside, and there is no way I could have made the bruise on my injured shoulder myself."

"That is certainly alarming."

"Yes, it is. I fear…I fear that should I be killed in one of these dreams, and that is definitely what they seemed to intend last night, then I will die physically too."

"There has to be something we can do to safeguard you."

"Short of having someone standing over me all night to wake me at the first hint of a nightmare, and that is not a suggestion Camerlengo, then I can't see what. You know, when I wrote my will, I didn't exactly think that this was the kind of circumstance where it might be enacted, I was thinking more, assassination, or accident, not death by dream demon."

"Don't say that Holy Father, please."

"No use hiding from it," he shrugged with his uninjured shoulder.

"No use being too accepting either. I for one would rather you didn't die on us."

"I'm certainly not aiming to do so; I'm just not sure what we can do. Spiritual manifestations of demons in humans is one thing, but this does not feel like something exorcism can deal with."

"That is not a comforting thought, Holiness."

"I wasn't aware that it was meant to be, Camerlengo."

They both fell silent then, there didn't seem to be much that could be said to that.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Patrick sighed as he tried to handle his lunch one handed, he and Strauss had spent the morning going through his schedule, trying to figure out what, if anything, would have to be handed over to Strauss, or Webb, the Dean of the College of Cardinals because he absolutely couldn't do it with his injury, and what they would need to draft in an assistant for. There was a rap at the door, and he sighed again, recognizing the knock as Richter's.

"Come in, Commandant," he called.

Richter came in, closing the door behind him, and watching him from the other side of the room for a heartbeat before approaching.

"Holiness," he said, bowing his head respectfully.

"What can I do for you?"

"We've finished going over your apartments, there is no sign of anyone gaining entry, and your doctor told me that your hands were scraped up outside," he said quietly.

"So he said," Patrick half shrugged, offering nothing more.

"Holiness, we are charged with ensuring your safety, I need to know how you got in and out without any of my people seeing you, and I need to know what happened to you."

"I didn't go outside, so far as I'm aware anyway. I fell asleep in my bedroom, perfectly undamaged, and woke up this morning in my study, a little scuffed, and with a broken collar bone."

"Sleepwalking?"

"Apparently."

"That doesn't explain how you managed to get out without being seen, are there any entrances to the passages in here that you haven't mentioned?"

"Not that I know of," Patrick said, eyeing the walls with a small frown, he had explored most of the lower levels of the passageways pretty thoroughly as a child, and a lot of the upper ones, but he had only ever found one entrance into the papal apartments.

"I don't know, we never did find out how Simeon got access to my father's medication, but you sealed the one entrance I found, didn't you?"

"Yes," Richter agreed, although he did make a mental note to make sure that entrance was _still_ sealed, the amount of sneaking around Simeon had managed to do, it wasn't impossible he could have got in there and taken out the wall that security had put in, and repaired the door mechanism, it had never occurred to him before now to check that.

"Holiness, you're holding something back. We can't keep you safe if you don't tell us what's going on," he said quietly.

Patrick sighed, closing his eyes for a long moment, before shaking his head.

"There is nothing more I can tell you, Commandant, and as far as I can see, very little more your people can do to ensure my safety."

"Surely we would be more able to ensure your safety if you would tell me what the threat is?"

"Not this time. Let it go, Commandant," Patrick said, rising from the table and walking away.

Richter bit down on the urge to curse, even under his breath, he didn't want to see another pope murdered on his watch, and he couldn't understand why the Holy Father would refuse to tell him what was threatening him. He wondered if he would have any better luck getting information out of the Camerlengo, assuming that he knew anything, but in the short term, he was going to increase security over his Holiness, and see if he could stop anything else happening, and perhaps try talking the pope into allowing him to add some security cameras to the small network that already covered the papal offices, even if he could just get the sitting room and the hall monitored, that would help enormously. Sighing, he headed back down to his office, to see what he could work out.

/x/

Thumping down into the cafeteria seat with a tired sigh, Robert Langdon dropped an armful of papers that needed grading down onto the surface of the table, and placed his lunch tray down beside them a little more carefully. He wasn't much looking forward to grading these particular papers, he had the distinct impression that only three or four students had actually grasped the meaning of the lecture, and he suspected he was in for a lot of bull, and things that had been pulled out of thin air.

He found himself eavesdropping on the excited chatter at the next table in lieu of starting to look through the dreaded papers, realizing as he listened that the astronomy department was in a tizzy about something.

"We need to get other observatories looking in that direction, and see if anyone else can see it before we get too excited," Leo Johnstone, the head of the department was counselling.

"Come on Prof, the birth of a new star is something worth getting excited about," one of the younger people around the table put in.

"Not until there is confirmation, it isn't, it could be a dying star that no-one has mapped before. The birth of a new star, away from the established locations of the stellar nurseries, and so clearly visible, it should have been seen before now. For pities sake, whatever this is, it is going to be visible to the naked eye in a couple of weeks; it should have been seen months ago."

Robert stopped listening, something was tickling at the back of his mind, something about new stars, and he couldn't place what it was. Something he had read a long time ago possibly, or something he had only glanced at briefly. Closing his eyes, he tried to tease the memory forward, tried to focus on enough of it that he could remember why he suddenly felt it important.

Finally a hint came to him, he remembered a book falling, nearly a year ago, the day he received the Galileo folio, the day Patrick McKenna was made Pope, but he couldn't remember anything beyond words about a new star's birth, he rummaged in his pocket for a pen, and scrawled a note to himself to try to locate that book when he got home that evening.

/x/

A tap at the door sounded, distracting the young Pope from the pile of paperwork he had been going through, and a glance at the clock made him raise an eyebrow in surprise, seeing that it was nearly midnight, he had no idea who could be knocking, everyone else should have been gone by now, and his security people wouldn't bother him while he was in his office.

Caution prompted him to shift some of the papers aside, revealing the small monitor Richter had placed for him after his election, so that he could see the hallway, but there was no threat revealed, just his guards standing peaceably at the door, and his secretary waiting patiently for acknowledgement.

"Come," he called, covering the monitor again, he trusted his secretary, but the less people who knew about that monitor, the safer he was, and he would _never_ feel overly safe in this office.

"I thought you left hours ago," he said as his secretary entered the room.

"No, Holiness, I had a lot of e-mails to catch up on," he said quietly, not bothering to mention that most of them had been well wishes from the faithful, coming in after the necessary changes to his Holiness' itinerary had been announced. They weren't being diverted from the Pope's attention, but they would all be gathered into one file, which he would be able to access when time permitted, instead of having them cluttering up the mailboxes.

"Ah, so what can I do for you?"

"A flagged name just came up, Robert Langdon has just filled in a request to access the archives again," he said, unable to keep the slightly disapproving look off his face at the thought, the damage he had done the last time he had been granted access may have been unavoidable, and helped saved the Church, and his Holiness, from the machinations of the Illuminati, but it didn't alter the fact that he had done considerable damage.

"Interesting, what is he after access to this time?"

"The Book of Prophets," the secretary responded.

Patrick leaned back in his chair, breathing slowly for a moment as he felt strangely light headed, that book could have nothing in it that meshed with Langdon's usual areas of interest, but even as he opened his mouth to tell his secretary to deny the request, he found himself holding his hand out for the page the man carried, and heard his own voice speaking.

"I'll take care of it, thank you," he said.

He could still deny the request, he thought as his secretary was dismissed with an admonishment to go and get some sleep, but he knew he wouldn't, he knew somehow that this would furnish another clue to his dreams, another piece to the puzzle. Picking up the phone, he punched in the number Langdon had supplied on the form, and listened to the ringing at the other end.

"Langdon," a slightly breathless voice spoke just when he was on the verge of giving up and using the e-mail address that had been provided.

"Tell me, Professor Langdon, why the Book of Prophets?" he asked quietly, without bothering to identify himself, he suspected the American would recognize his voice, a guess confirmed when he heard the man's breath catch faintly.

"I, uh, I know this is going to sound odd, especially coming from someone like me, someone who doesn't believe, but I have a part of one of the prophesies in a book that someone gave me, and I think one, possibly even two, of the things mentioned have come to pass. I wanted to see if there was more, in the rest of the prophesy, given what it references."

"And what would that be?"

"As near as I can tell, the end of the world."

Patrick closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the chair before answering.

"When do you expect to be arriving?"

"If I can get a flight out after classes are done tomorrow, would that be too soon?" Langdon suggested, sounding startled.

"No, I will make sure you are expected, in fact, if you contact my secretary with your expected arrival time, I will ensure that you are met at the airport."

"Of course, thank you," Langdon was clearly puzzled, but unwilling to push his luck, given he had been agreed access with far less fuss than previously.

"Goodnight professor," he said softly, hanging up before he could get up the nerve to chance his luck. Patrick scrawled a quick note to leave on his secretary's desk, telling him to expect the call from the American, and then gave up on the paperwork, deciding to call it a night himself.

/x/

Cardinal Strauss was surprised to get the summons to join his Holiness for breakfast, given the trouble he had been having sleeping of late, breakfast had tended to be skipped altogether, or a hurried affair in his office. Joining the pontiff in the small, informal dining room off his apartments, he took the chair the younger man waved him to.

"You look well rested, Holiness," he said quietly, nodding to the silent young man who placed his plate before him.

"Yes, surprisingly I had a peaceful night," Patrick acknowledged quietly.

"Perhaps the worst is over now, whatever it was," he offered hopefully.

"No, Camerlengo, I think this is a respite, whatever it is, it hasn't even gotten started yet," he sighed.

"Has something else happened?"

"You could say that, professor Langdon will be arriving today, to examine the Book of Prophets. I would appreciate it if you could collect him when Chartrand arrives from the airport with him, and escort him to my office. I have the archivist bringing the book here for me this afternoon. I believe the prophesy he is interested in may have a bearing on my nightmares," he said bluntly.

"Prophesies?" Strauss asked, unable to hide his distain completely.

"Honestly Camerlengo, with everything else that seems to be going on around here, is the thought that there might be a prophesy truly the oddest of them?" he asked with a hint of wry amusement, Strauss had to concede the point really.

"No, Holiness, not the oddest at all. May I ask what time he is to arrive?"

"Some time this evening, confirm with my secretary, he was making the arrangements to have him collected."

/x/

Langdon let his eyes scan the sea of bodies as he cleared through arrivals, looking for whoever had been sent to collect him. Seeing a face he recognized, he drifted over toward Chartrand, who nodded to him sharply.

"Good to see you again Professor Langdon, if you will come this way," he said, gesturing the man to follow him through the crowd to where the car, with another young blue suited man, one Robert didn't recognize, sitting in the passenger seat, staring down a member of the Carabinieri who looked like he wanted to order him to move along.

"You have no other luggage?" Chartrand asked, looking at the single piece of hand luggage Langdon had brought through with him.

"No, I don't expect I shall be here very long at all, I have a seat tentatively booked on a flight back out for tomorrow, assuming I am able to access the Archives in the morning. I would appreciate it if you could point me to a hotel which will take a booking at short notice and with no definite duration."

"There is no need, his Holiness has ordered a room prepared for you in the guest wing," Chartrand said, getting into the driver's seat and pulling away from the pavement.

"Why?" Langdon asked in confusion.

"I have no idea, I believe he is waiting to see you when you arrive, perhaps he will tell you," Chartrand shrugged, pulling out of the airport into the chaos of the traffic with the skill of familiarity.

Langdon fell silent, he had a feeling that there was something going on, but that he wasn't going to get a hint of what it could be until he was face to face with the Pope, and Chartrand didn't seem to be inviting small talk. He stared out of the window at the passing traffic, one hand resting on his bag, his mind turning over again the four lines that had caused him to ask to see a book that normally he wouldn't give the time of day to.

_**When new stars birth sunders the sky** _   
_**and the ancient enemy stirs once more** _   
_**God's warrior, sleeping in mortal guise** _   
_**will awaken for the battle is nigh** _

They arrived at the Vatican City gates faster than he would have expected, and were waved through by a man in the traditional striped outfit of the Swiss Guard.

Patrick was standing in front of the window, watching the tourists milling in the square in the light of the early evening when there was a light tap at the door. Sighing softly, he walked back over to the desk, ignoring the book that sat on the top of it for the moment, and checking the monitor.

"Come," he called, sinking down into his chair and flipping some papers on top of the monitor.

Strauss and Langdon entered the room, Strauss making his reverence, and Langdon simply bowing his head respectfully.

"Sit down, both of you," he invited quietly, waving them to the two chairs on the other side of the desk to him.

"It's good to see you again, you certainly look better than you did the last time I saw you," Langdon commented, although he did take in the sling with visible curiosity.

"It is good to see you too, professor, though I must confess, I am curious as to what brought you to ask to see this book," he said, gesturing to the heavy, aged volume on his desk.

Langdon followed the gesture, looking at the book for a moment before turning his attention back.

"It actually starts nearly a year ago. I arrived home from here, and turned on the news, in time to see your election being announced to the world. For no reason that I could discern, just as you were about to give your blessing a book, this book, fell on the floor, face up, and open to a discussion on a prophesy. I glanced at it, when I picked it up, read the part of the prophesy that was reproduced there, but didn't really give it any thought, and my attention was soon thoroughly distracted by something far more important to my own work, I never gave it another thought at all, until this last couple of days. I was in the cafeteria at the University, and I heard the astronomy department, they were excited about something, quite possibly the birth of a new star, one that has apparently been completely overlooked by every observatory on Earth until now, until it is on the verge of being visible to the naked eye, if that is what it is. There is still some discussion on the matter, but the phrase I had read came back to me, and I felt…strongly, that it was somehow important."

He opened the book to the page he had marked, allowing them to read the four lines printed there.

"You said you thought one or more of the events mentioned had occurred," Patrick said, looking up at him.

"Well, the star is pretty obvious, and I figured it being visible to the naked eye could count as sundering the sky. I thought the illuminati might be the ancient enemy, up to their tricks again, God's warrior, well that's more your area than mine," he said with a shrug.

"God's warrior is the Archangel," Patrick murmured absently.

"But, what could it mean by sleeping in mortal guise?" Strauss wondered.

"Perhaps the rest of the text will give us more information," Patrick shrugged, wincing at the movement of his injured shoulder, and vaguely noting that he had missed his painkiller dose.

Strauss reached over and moved the book closer to the pontiff, he hadn't missed the little flicker of pain in the grey eyes.

"Thank you, Camerlengo," he acknowledged, opening the book to the title page, sighing softly as he looked at the next page, which was filled with text.

"I suppose it was too much to hope that it would be indexed," he commented wryly, looking at the thick tome.

"I can go through it, try to find the right page," Langdon offered.

"I thought your Latin was shaky? What you have is a translation, presumably of part of a prophesy, this is in Latin old enough that I'm not sure _I'm_ going to be able to read it."

"If I may, Holiness, Cardinal Baggia has some proficiency with the older forms."

Patrick hesitated for a long moment, not sure he really wanted to involve someone else right now, but he supposed there wasn't really a whole lot of options, he probably could work his way through it, but it would take him weeks, and he suspected that they didn't have the time.

"Very well Camerlengo, but, discreetly, yes?"

"Of course Holiness, if I may be dismissed, he should be in the library at this time of day."

"Yes, carry on Camerlengo Strauss."

Strauss picked up the book and left with it, leaving Patrick alone with Langdon.

"Will you be staying until Cardinal Baggia finds us the prophesy?"

"If that is not too much trouble to you, I would like to, my interest has been piqued."

"Well, the room in the guest wing is yours for as long as it takes, if you wish to contact the university to tell them you will be longer than you thought, tell my secretary, and he will arrange to have a phone line made available to you."

"Thank you. Might I ask a question?"

"There is nothing to prevent you asking," Patrick nodded.

"What's going on? Your Camerlengo is clearly worried about you, you gave me permission to come and see the book without any real explanation of why I wanted to, in direct contrast to how hard it was for me to see something from your Archives the last time, and you're…edgy, for want of a better word."

Patrick studied him quietly for a long moment, and then shook his head slightly.

"Perhaps, after we have read the full version of the prophesy I will be in a position to answer your question, right now, I cannot," he said softly.

"Cannot or will not?" Langdon queried.

"Cannot," Patrick said after a moment of consideration, the fingers of his good hand involuntarily rising to stroke along the line of the damaged bone in his shoulder.

"There is very little more we can do now until Cardinal Baggia has had time to locate and translate the appropriate prophesy for us, and you must be tired, Professor Langdon, I will have my secretary show you to the rooms that have been assigned to you."

"Thank you," Langdon said; taking the clear dismissal without offence, the younger man clearly had a lot on his mind right now.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Cardinal Baggia had just seated himself in a quiet corner of the cavernous library with a book he had been studying for the last week when Strauss located him.

“Do you mind if I join you for a moment Emil?”

“Of course not Wilhelm, sit down,” he said, putting the book he held aside on a conveniently placed table for the moment.

“I have something to ask of you, a task his Holiness needs carrying out with discretion.”

“What kind of a task?” Baggia asked curiously.

“Locating a specific item in a book and translating it from old Latin. You would be asked to speak of this with no-one besides the Holy Father and myself,” he said in a low voice.

“Why the secrecy old friend?”

“The subject matter could be considered a little on the controversial side, and he has much on his mind at the moment, without having to deal with the debate that would undoubtedly arise.”

“What is the book?”

Strauss turned the heavy volume over to allow him to see the cover, and one of Baggia’s eyebrows went up in surprise.

“Really? I would not have thought such things would interest him.”

“They would not, under normal circumstances, but it seems circumstances are not precisely normal, at this time. Will you undertake the task?”

“Of course, what is it I am looking for?”

Strauss handed him a slip of paper with the four lines written on it.

“This is all we have? It would help immensely if there was even just a hint of the age of the prophesy, it would indicate where in the book it was likely to be.”

“These four lines came from a book in Professor Langdon’s possession; I didn’t read any of the surrounding text. I will ask him if you can see the book,” Strauss said.

“He is here?”

“Yes, his Holiness granted him a room in the guest wing for the time being.”

“Then, I will ask him myself, assuming he already knows at least some of whatever is going on. I never got the chance to thank him for saving my life last year, so no-one would really be curious about why I was speaking to him now.”

“As you wish, Emil,” Strauss nodded, accepting the reasoning.

Baggia gathered up the book from Strauss, and silently left the room.

/x/

Robert was just acquainting himself to the simply appointed guest room when there was a light tap at the door. Moving over to open it, he blinked in surprise for a second, before inclining his head.

“Cardinal Baggia.”

“Professor Langdon, could I trouble you for a moment of your time? I never had the opportunity to thank you for saving my life last year, and I would like to do so now,” he said.

“Of course, come in, but there is really no need, I just did what anyone…well, anyone who wasn’t an illuminati assassin…would have done,” he said, stepping back to allow the elder man into the room, and offering him the single chair.

“None the less, given that only two of the six people they targeted lived, I am grateful that I am one of them, and I do thank you,” Baggia said, accepting the offered seat.

“Then, you are welcome.”

“I also understand you are in possession of the volume that these four lines were taken from. I would like to see it, if I may, it will aid immeasurably in locating the original source within the prophesies.”

“Sure,” Langdon shrugged, pulling the book out of his bag and opening it to the right place before handing it over.

Baggia read through the pages surrounding the four lines, and then nodded, a small frown creasing his forehead.

“I think I have an idea where it should be now, it is older than I would have thought, if this author is accurate.”

“My mentor, Professor Reynard, he thought very highly of him, if that helps,” Langdon offered, taking the book that Baggia held out to him.

“Thank you,” Baggia said, rising.

“I should get to work, I hope your visit with us is less eventful than your last visit,” he said, departing.

“Me too,” Langdon muttered to the empty room, but somehow, he doubted it.

/x/

Strauss looked up from his papers with a frown as the telephone on his desk shrilled.

“Yes?” he asked into the receiver.

“Cardinal Baggia is here, Camerlengo, he wishes to know if you can spare him a moment,” his secretary told him.

“Yes, send him in,” Strauss told the young priest, hanging up.

It had been three days since he had asked his friend to look for the prophesy for them, and in that time, he had hardly caught sight of him anywhere other than at prayer.  

Baggia entered, carrying the book Strauss had given him a few days previously.

“Emil,” he greeted, gesturing his friend to a seat.

“Thank you,” Baggia said, taking the seat and placing the book on the desk.

“I have found the prophesy you were seeking,” he said without preamble.

“That was fast, I would have expected it to have taken longer to locate it, much less translate it.”

“Locating it was easier than you might think, I doubt this book has been touched since it was used to get the passage marked in young Langdon’s book, at least, when I checked, the author of that book was the last person to have been granted access to it, according to the records. He had left the page bookmarked with a sheet of archivists’ paper. The time taken was to make sure that I was certain of my translation.”

“And are you? You seem a little unsure.”

“I am sure of the translation, but…it seems to be rather a grim work, and I cannot imagine why his Holiness is concerning himself with such a thing _now_ ,” Baggia said.

Strauss wasn’t remotely surprised to hear that it was grim, given the content of the Holy Father’s nightmares.

“There is little I can tell you Emil, what little I do know, I have not been given leave to share. I will tell you when I can, I promise you that.”

“Very well,” Baggia sighed and rose, placing a sheet of paper that he had been holding in his hand face down on top of the book and resting his hand on it for a moment.

“If even a fraction of this comes to pass, I am not entirely certain that I want to know about it,” he said with a wry quirk of his lips.

Strauss forced a faint smile in return, wondering what his old friend would have to say if he _were_ to tell him that they suspected it had already begun.

“Thank you for doing this, my friend, it is appreciated,” he said instead.

Baggia nodded briefly and left the room, already putting the thing out of his mind as an academic exercise that he would never have to give another thought to.

Strauss waited until the door was shut behind him before reaching for the page the other Cardinal had left and turning it over, his eyes scanning the neat, strong calligraphy.

“Oh dear,” he murmured softly, he certainly didn’t think that this was going to in any way reassure the Holy Father, or ease his sleep either. He couldn’t see any point to putting it off, he would have to take it to the younger man now.

He walked up to the Pope’s office and found his secretary busily going through the next month’s appointments.

“Is his Holiness free for a short while?” he asked.

“Uh, sorry Camerlengo, I’m not sure, he went to his informal office about an hour ago, told me not to put any calls through. Is there anything I can pass on to him for you when he returns?”

“No, I need to speak to him in person about this; I will try his informal office.”

“As you wish, Camerlengo.”

Strauss turned and went to the smaller, quieter office, knocking lightly on the door.

“Who is it?” there was a hint of irritation in the Pontiff’s voice, and Strauss wished he had known that he was in a bad mood _before_ he had come down here, not that it would have made much difference, he supposed, steeling himself, he called out.

“Your Camerlengo, Holy Father, may I trouble you for a few minutes of your time?”

“Come in.”

Strauss opened the door, stepping inside, and paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the minimal level of light in the room, not a bad mood then, but a bad headache, something of a surprise considering his was on painkillers for his shoulder.

“Forgive me for disturbing you when you are feeling unwell, Holy Father,” he said quietly.

“It’s all right, the migraine medication is working, slowly, but working, it’s just easier to keep the light down in here. What was it you needed?”

“Cardinal Baggia just brought me the translation of the prophesy, I thought you would want to know straight away,” he said.

“Have you read it?”

“Yes.”

“Do I _want_ to read it?” the younger man asked with a hint of his usual wry humor.

“Probably not,” Strauss replied, putting the page down on the desk in front of him anyway.

“See if you can have Professor Langdon tracked down, I told him I would include him when we had the translation,” he said, not looking at the page just yet.

“Yes Holy Father.”

Finding him wasn’t all that difficult, the Swiss Guard were keeping an eye on him, making sure that he didn’t get into any mischief this time, so it was a simple matter to have one of them bring him to the office.

“You wanted to see me?” he asked after being escorted in, blinking at the darkness in the room.

“Yes, you were interested in knowing when we had the translation of the full prophesy, we have it now, if you still want to know.”

“Yes,” he said instantly, moving to stand by Cardinal Strauss, who stood beside the fireplace, in the small pool of mellow light cast by a lit candle on the mantle.

“If you would, Cardinal Strauss?” Patrick asked, holding out the page in the older man’s direction.

“Of course, Holy Father,” Strauss nodded retrieving the paper before returning to the candle’s light so that he could actually read it.

**_When new stars birth sunders the sky  
and the ancient enemy stirs once more  
God’s warrior sleeping in mortal guise  
will awaken for the battle is nigh_ **

**_Under Saints stony gaze the seal lies  
hidden but to those hiding in darkness  
seeking to open the lost prison  
to bring to us all the eternal night_ **

**_Innocent blood spilled the seal cracks  
opens the way for the harbingers  
working insidious in the darkness  
to release the darkest one of all_ **

**_Come forth the Archangel  
wakened by the blood of innocence  
come forth and sleep no more  
to answer once more duties call_ **

****

“Well, that sounds rather…violent, and bloody,” Langdon said faintly when Strauss had finished speaking.

“Yes,” Patrick agreed flatly.

“Under Saints stony gaze; that’s out there, isn’t it, St Peter’s square?” the American asked looking toward the window, even though it was covered with heavy shutters.

“Yes,” Patrick said again, pinching the bridge of his nose, his migraine appeared to be making a comeback.

“Is…is it suggesting that someone is going to make a sacrifice of some kind, out there in the _busy_ square, right in front of the church, under the eyes of all the security and the police?”

“There is no need, the sacrifice was already made, the blood already spilled; the blood of a Pope was spilled there when someone attempted to murder Pope John Paul II. Only last year, the blood of a Cardinal was spilled there when the illuminati killed one of their victims there,” Patrick sighed.

“Not to mention, your blood, from when Simeon hung you out of the window,” Langdon added, making Strauss wince, he had never _quite_ forgiven himself for not noticing that Simeon was a traitor, even if Patrick refused to blame him.

“Yes, mine too, I suppose.”

“But what could it mean about a seal?” Strauss asked.

“I don’t know for sure, there may be something in the older records of the Church, or from when they were designing the square, but going just from what the verse says, the square is the seal on a trap or prison, holding something…unpleasant…and the seal has been weakened by the blood,” Patrick shrugged, closing his eyes.

“What about the Archangel?” Langdon wondered.

“By implication, more blood will be shed before the Archangel is identified, but it could be anyone, there isn’t even really any need to believe it is someone in Rome,” Strauss pointed out, a suspicion nagged at him though, pointing out the obvious, that there was someone right here in the Vatican who had been dreaming about something very wrong in the square _before_ the prophesy was brought to their attention, someone who appeared to have been spared certain death at least twice by divine intervention, someone the demons he dreamed of apparently very much wanted to kill.

Looking over at the pinched, tired face of the young Pope, Strauss sternly dismissed the fanciful thoughts, surely whoever the sleeping Archangel was, they would not be prey to ailments like migraines, they would not carry the injuries, the scars, that this young man carried, it was impossible, he managed to quash the notion trying not to listen to the little whisper in the back of his mind that told him his suspicions were justified.

“So, that’s it then, brick wall?” Langdon asked.

“Not necessarily, you’re good at following hidden trails, faint clues; if you are willing, you could go into the archives with a one of our researchers, and see if you can find any hints about the seal, you could start with the documents pertaining to the commissioning and design of the current square, if it is a seal, _someone_ involved in the design must have known _something._ Failing that, there are documents down there stretching all the way back to the very first church on this site, although they admittedly would be very fragile, and near impossible to read,” Patrick said with a faint, tired smile.

Langdon looked at him, sitting shadowed beyond the circle of warm light offered by the candle, and shivered at a sudden, inexplicable chill at the sight, it was gone a moment later thought, as the Pope leaned forward to rest his arms on the edge of his desk, allowing the candlelight illuminate him.

“Are you interested, professor?” Patrick queried.

“Of course I am,” Robert agreed, he didn’t answer with the enthusiasm he thought he might have when being offered unparalleled access to the Vatican archives, but then again, he had never envisioned that he would be looking for something so tied up in blood, darkness, and possibly the end of the world.

“Then I will make the arrangements, thank you professor.”

“I would say ‘my pleasure’, but…” he trailed off with a faint, wan smile, gesturing to the page Strauss still held.

“I quite understand, your escort should still be outside, he will see you back to your rooms, or wherever you were before.”

When Langdon was gone, Patrick and Strauss stayed silent for almost a full five minutes, both lost in their thoughts.

“What are you going to do?” Strauss finally asked.

“About what?” Patrick murmured.

“You were right, it is only going to get worse, and you are apparently not safe when you sleep _now_ ; what are you going to do?”

“Frankly, I have no idea. There have been no nightmares since the night I was injured, but there is no guarantee the status quo will remain undisturbed; I suppose I will just have to take it as it comes. Take my three o’clock meeting would you,” Patrick said, leaning back into the shadows again and pressing his hand over his eyes.

“Are you all right, Holy Father?”

“Yes, yes, I believe I would benefit from lying down in a very dark room for a little while though.”

“Of course, with your permission then Holiness?”

Patrick simply nodded without taking hand away from his eyes; Strauss made the proper reverence anyway, and withdrew quietly from the room, leaving the younger man alone.

Patrick lowered his hand once he was sure Strauss was gone, clasping them lightly in his sling.

“I know you’re there,” he said very quietly, without opening his eyes.

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

Patrick opened his eyes, looking into the dense shadows that the candle light cast into the corners of the room when there was no answer, he couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t change the surety that there was someone there.

“I _know_ you’re there,” he said again.

Another long moment, and a figure seemed to almost materialize out of the shadows, stepping slowly into the light. Black hair and clothes, dark penetrating eyes, and a sweep of black wings became visible as the figure stepped into the candle light with preternatural grace.

Patrick’s hand went to the crucifix he wore automatically as he scooted the wheeled chair back away from the desk, away from the advancing figure that some instinct told him was the _fallen_ Archangel.

“I am not here to do you harm,” Sataniel said in a smooth, almost hypnotic voice.

“Then why are you here?”

“I do not want this thing released any more than you do, but I cannot intervene directly. All I can do is warn you, time is short, they are close to their goal,” he said, one black clawed finger tapping lightly at the prophesy lying on the desk.

“Why would you want it stopped?” Patrick asked suspiciously, wincing as the closer proximity of this being intensified his headache.

Sataniel realized his presence was causing pain, and stepped back to the shadows at the edge of the room before answering.

“This thing was first imprisoned before I…parted ways…with _His_ ways, I saw the horrors it unleashed. Believe me, if this is loosed, it will make my battle with Michael look like a school yard brawl in comparison. Whatever designs I might have on this world, this world needs to still be standing,” he shrugged, drawing further back into the shadows, he could feel the presence of an Angel, somewhere close, and while he doubted that any other than Michael could match him in battle, this was neither the time, nor the place, to test that out.

Patrick shuddered, chilled to the bone as his ‘visitor’ faded back into the shadows, but the lessening of his migraine to little more than a normal headache suggested he was truly gone. His hands shaking, Patrick locked the prophesy in his desk drawer and snuffed out the candles, leaving the office and heading for his apartments, now he needed to make arrangements for Langdon, and then he really needed to lie down, although he had changed his mind about the dark room, he didn’t think he would want to be in the dark any time soon.

/x/

Robert met the researcher at 7am the next morning, following the priest down into the archives, and trying to ignore the dark looks the young man kept sending him, he suspected that he wasn’t ever going to be popular among the archive staff here, after the damage he had been unable to avoid causing the last time. He realized belatedly that he should have asked Pope Michael or Camerlengo Strauss what exactly he was allowed to tell his rather unwilling companion about what they were looking for, but it was too late now, and he was going to have to use his judgement for now, and check later.

“What are we looking for?” Father Bianchi asked when they reached the massive room with the many hermetic vaults that Robert remembered _oh_ so well.

Robert frowned faintly, considering, and then shrugged, deciding he might as well start where the Pontiff had suggested.

“For now, we’re looking for information regarding the design and installation of the current square, anything mentioning a seal would be good, or any mentions of someone being asked or ordered to do something they thought unusual.”

“This isn’t going to be another attack on the Church, like your Holy Grail _theory_ , is it?” Bianchi asked suspiciously.

“Do you really imagine the Holy Father would have let me loose down here again, if he thought I was in any way looking to harm the Church? Or are you perhaps suggesting you don’t trust his judgement?” Robert jabbed, and saw Bianchi pale, his lips pressing tightly together. Good, he wanted to be able to work with the man, but he would be damned if he would allow the man to snipe at him without standing up for himself.

“Of course I trust his judgement, it’s yours I’m not so sure of,” he said snidely.

“Then it’s a good job you’re here to help then, isn’t it? Lead on,” he said with an innocent smile. Bianchi glared at him for a moment longer, and then turned and led the way to the section of the archives dealing with the works of Bernini.

Robert hesitated before stepping into the airlock when Bianchi activated the door, and he was very surprised to see understanding rather than mockery in the priest’s eyes where he waited for him.

“The system now has a manual override to the locks, should the primary _and_ backup power manage to fail while someone is inside the vaults, it is now _impossible_ for them to be locked in.”

“Thanks,” Langdon acknowledged quietly, stepping in, and waiting while the airlock cycled before spitting them out in the vault.

He looked at the large number of files and forced himself not to groan aloud, it could take weeks to find what they were looking for, especially if they had to extend their search beyond Bernini’s work on the square, and he suspected that they didn’t have _weeks_.

“You have the notes pertaining to his design of the square here, and his journals there, where do you want to start?” Bianchi asked, now settling into the mindset of a researcher, no room for anything else.

“If you start with the journals for the appropriate years, I’d much likely have a harder time translating them than design notes that he would probably intend for other people to be able to read.”

“As you wish,” Bianchi said, immediately heading over to the journals, murmuring softly, “hmm, 1656, 1656…ah, there.”

He slipped on a cotton glove and eased the journal out of its place and carried it over to the table, settling down to start reading without sparing another glance to Langdon, Robert shrugged faintly and took down the first file box, moving to the opposite side of the table to the other man.

/x/

Patrick sighed when he noticed that the first appointment he had on his schedule for today was with Richter, making an appointment indicated that this was going to be something that the security officer didn’t think could be handled in a few minutes between meetings, therefore he suspected he wasn’t going to like it much.

The familiar firm rap on the door came at precisely the appointed hour, indicating to Patrick that his secretary wasn’t out there yet, he never allowed anyone to knock, he thought it undignified for the Pontiff to yell across the length of the office for the visitor to enter, he always announced people using the telephone.

“Come,” Patrick called.

Richter stepped in, carrying a file, and closed the door behind him before offering a brief reverence.

“Come in and sit down Commandant, I am not much in the mood for formality right now,” he sighed, waving the older man to the chair across the desk from him.

Richter came and sat stiffly in the chair, tapping the edge of the file lightly on the desk for a moment, before laying it in front of Patrick.

“I have a security review that I wish to put in place, but this will require your approval,” he said.

“You are head of security, what would you need my approval for?”

“Because I wish to increase monitoring on you, your safety has been threatened too many times here, where you should be safest.”

“Increase…? You want to put more cameras in,” he said flatly.

“Yes, specifically, in your apartments.”

“I don’t like that idea in the slightest Commandant, there is little enough privacy in my life as it is.”

“I know, but hear me out, please.”

“Very well, go ahead.”

“I want to put cameras in your sitting room, and the hallway, not in any of the other rooms, I would do the work myself, and no-one other than you and I, and Chartrand as my second in command, if you are willing, would even know they were there, they would only be tied into the private system in my office, accessible to no-one else, and I would only ever access the data in the event that something else happens to you, in fact, it can be set to auto-erase every two days, if you wish.”

Patrick leaned back in his chair, his fingers fidgeting with the strap of his sling unnoticed as he thought about it. He did trust that Richter would keep his word, that no-one else would know the cameras were there, and no-one would look at anything that was recorded unless something happened to him, and it wasn’t as if he ever did anything in his quarters he wouldn’t want anyone to see, but it was still one more bit of his privacy chipped away, one more place there would be eyes on him, even if they were only electronic eyes. Finally he sighed and admitted to himself that it was a sensible precaution, he pulled Richter’s file over and flipped it open.

“Fine, under the conditions you have just described, you may have your cameras,” he sighed again, signing off on the page.

“Thank you, Holiness, with your permission, I will see to the installation this afternoon.”

“Very well,” he agreed.

/x/

Langdon wasn’t sure how long he had been working at translating the first file of notes from the construction of the square, but his stomach was starting to indicate that it was feeling rather neglected by the time he heard a curious noise from his companion.

“Something?” he asked hopefully, looking up.

“I don’t know, I don’t know if it classes as ‘unusual’ but it is certainly curious, listen;

 _Today his Holiness Pope Alexander VII granted me the great honour of redesigning the grounds lying before the great Basilica, a grand challenge, but it is made more challenging yet by the caveat that I may not move or remove either the Obelisk, or Maderno’s fountain. The Obelisk is not an issue, it will make a perfect focus just where it is, but the fountain, oh, the fountain, how am I to achieve any kind of symmetry with that sat where it is? How can anything flow properly with that sat there? Ah, no matter, I am up to the challenge, I_ will _find a way to make it work._

It’s curious that the Pope of the time specified that the two couldn’t even be moved, things were moved all the time with redesigns and changing moods back then. Even if Alexander VII was particularly fond of the fountain and the Obelisk, why forbid that they be moved, even within the confines of the square?” Bianchi commented.

“Yes, that is exactly the kind of thing we are looking for. Is there likely to be anything in writing from the Pope about _why_ he was so emphatic the two shouldn’t be moved?”

“Not unless it is mentioned among Bernini’s papers, or possibly I suppose, Maderno’s files. It is not as if anyone would dare demand that a Pontiff explain his decisions on such a matter, _especially_ not back then.”

“Then we will have to keep looking.”

“Perhaps we should break for lunch first; we are already pushing the time limit on how long one should stay in the vaults without a break.”

“Good idea,” Robert agreed as his stomach chose that moment to grumble audibly.

They tidied up the desk, closing the books and files after marking their places with acid free paper, and slipped out of the archives for a short break.

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

Strauss walked into his office after lunch, and came to a sudden halt as he saw the Holy Father standing in front of the window, staring down into the square with a worried line furrowing his forehead.

“Holy Father, forgive me, I didn’t know…I didn’t recall…that I had a meeting with you this afternoon,” he apologized, flustered.

“Relax, Camerlengo, you weren’t scheduled to meet with me this afternoon, I just…” he sighed deeply, shook his head, and closed his eyes tiredly, leaning against the window frame.

“Are…are you all right, Holiness?” he asked uncertainly.

“I have no idea,” he snorted wearily.

“Has something else happened?”

“You could say that.”

“Did the nightmares return?” he pressed hesitantly, he had half expected it after they had received the prophesy.

“I’m not sure the nightmares wouldn’t have been preferable; at least I know where I stand there, they want to kill me, it would have been less unnerving,” Patrick told him with a stressed sounding chuckle.

Turning away from the window with a low sound of frustration, Patrick turned to face Strauss for the first time since the older man had entered the room.

“Sit _down_ will you,” he said impatiently, waving the older man in the general direction of the desk before dragging his unrestrained hand back through his hair.

Strauss opted to sit in one of the two visitor’s chairs in front of the desk, unwilling to take the position of authority behind it, even in his own office, in the Pontiff’s presence, and then sat quietly, watching the slighter man pace the width of the office for a couple of minutes with his eyes closed, the line between his brows even deeper, and Strauss found himself wondering idly just how much time the younger man had spent pacing as Camerlengo, to be able to do that with his eyes shut, without walking into the wall. Finally Patrick slowed to a halt, and sank gracefully into the other chair, beside Strauss.

“We need to start thinking about what we’re going to do when…if…the worst happens,” he said quietly.

“You don’t think Professor Langdon will find anything to help stop it?”

“I don’t think we’re going to have _time_ to stop it, I think the best we can hope for is that he will find something to give us a clue what we are dealing with,” he said unhappily.

“Tell me what happened, please?” Strauss pressed softly.

“I had a _visitor_ yesterday afternoon, after you left my informal office, well, he was there at the same time you were, he just didn’t make himself known until after, when I called him out.”

“Who?”

“A demon,” Patrick  said with a wry, bitter quirk of humour.

Strauss recoiled in shock, looking at him dazedly for several long moments.

“An actual…?”

“An actual, physical, not in a nightmare, demon, yes. Fortunately for me, this particular demon apparently wished me no harm, he just wanted to warn me that those seeking to release whatever is out there were close to achieving their goal, so, as I said, we need to start making preparations.”

“But…how did a demon manage to appear inside these walls?” Strauss asked, horrified.

“I don’t know, I really don’t, perhaps the fact that he was once an Archangel was enough to secure him entry, or perhaps it was that he meant no harm, I’m sure you will agree that we are not too anxious to have him come back so that we can ask him.”

For an indeterminable moment, Patrick thought that his Camerlengo was going to pass out, and he grabbed his arm to steady him, but the older man pulled himself together gamely and nodded.

“Forgive me Holiness,” he said, embarrassed.

“There is nothing to forgive, Camerlengo, believe me, I was shaking for several hours, after he departed,” he said wryly.

“Thank you,” he nodded, settling himself back in his chair properly, before continuing.

“If they can come inside, how are we to keep anyone safe?” he asked.

“We don’t know that _they_ can get inside, only that _Sataniel_ can, I haven’t seen the demons in my dreams anywhere other than in the outer precincts, and in the last one, inside seemed to represent safety, protection,” he said thoughtfully, that was certainly what his father’s presence in the dream represented to him, anyway.

“Security really need to be involved, Holiness, if there is to be any kind of plan put into place. They will be the ones ultimately responsible for making sure people go where they are meant to go, and do what they are meant to do.”

Patrick sighed again, tapping his fingers lightly on his knee for a moment, before giving Strauss a sour look.

“You can deal with telling Richter what little we know then, and what we suspect, tell him all of it, including my nightmares, if you must, but I can almost guarantee he will simply question my sanity, and quite possibly yours too. Never mind, I will have my secretary deliver the prophesy to you shortly, and then you can figure out how you want to approach the Commandant. It may be most efficient to make sure, should the worst happen, that everyone is routed to the Sistine Chapel, or to St Peter’s Basilica, rather than trying to get anyone out.”

“Yes, Holiness,” Strauss replied, rising automatically as Patrick stood and making a swift reverence before the white clad figure swept from the room.

Strauss returned to his own seat behind the desk, his mind already turning over how he was going to approach securing the head of security’s co-operation without first having to convince the man that neither he, nor the Pontiff, were mad.

/x/

Richter leaned back in his seat across the desk from the Camerlengo, folding his arms, and looking past him, out of the window into the darkening sky as he tried to take in everything the older man had laid out to him.

“You’re serious? Do you have any idea how insane this is?” he demanded.

“I know how insane it _seems_ , yes, but I have no doubt what so ever that it is real, it is happening.”

“Demons wandering the Apostolic Palace, and threatening the Holy Father in his sleep? Trying to unearth something even more evil from under the _square_? How can you expect me to take this seriously?”

“You _must_ take it seriously, he fears how many will be killed or injured if this prophesy is realized, and we are unprepared.”

“This is madness,” Richter insisted.

“Well, if nothing else, draw up a plan to get people to safety in the Basilica and the Sistine chapel if there is _any_ kind of attack on the square, label it as a terrorist threat plan if you must, just don’t dismiss it completely.”

“You really want me to take this seriously? Nightmares? Hallucinations?”

“It was serious enough to put him in a sling,” Strauss said in irritation.

“You know what happened?” Richter demanded, still irked by the Pontiff’s refusal to tell him how he had been hurt.

“I know only what he knows, that he fell asleep in one room, had a nightmare where he was out in the square, where he was injured by the demons, where he fell, and when he woke, he was in the wrong room, with injuries he can’t adequately explain getting. You must have seen the bruise he received that night, you were there, and the doctor did state that the imprint was unmistakably of a hand, _that_ wasn’t done by an _hallucination_.”

“I saw it,” he admitted grudgingly, before shaking his head, “but that still doesn’t rule out a physical assailant.”

“I thought you _had_ ruled out an intruder?” he asked pointedly.

Richter sighed explosively, folding his arms over his chest and glaring down at the floor, thinking. It was true, there was no trace of an intruder, the one secret entrance they knew of _had_ been unsealed, most probably by Simeon a year ago, and judging by the dust, undisturbed since, so either the attacker could fly, or there was something _more_ going on.

“Fine, we will start working out an evacuation plan. I assume this is also going to include somehow getting any people who may be in the square if something happens into the church?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll have someone check out how we can alter the barriers to allow fast access should we need it _without_ weakening security any further.”

“Very well, I will leave it in your capable hands for now then.”

Richter left, still half convinced that their Pontiff was starting to come a little unglued from too much pressure, too little sleep, and the anniversary of the events of last year, of his father’s murder, creeping up on him, and that the Camerlengo was simply humouring him, but he would undertake the task he had been given, and hope that everything returned to normal after the upcoming masses to mark the anniversaries of both the death of the previous Pope in a few days, and the coronation of the current one a couple of weeks further on.

/x/

Robert headed back to his room after an unproductive day in the archives; with the exception of Father Bianchi’s little snippet from Bernini’s journal, they hadn’t come up with anything else at all mentioning a seal, or suggesting there was anything unusual in the designing of the square. He looked at the window, seeing the darkness outside broken by the lighting of the square, and decided that he was going to grab his wallet, and head out to get something to eat in one of the restaurants in the streets outside, and then maybe take a walk around the square, which would hopefully be fairly quiet this late in the evening, and see if anything jumped out at him with a closer look at the Obelisk and the fountain, he certainly hadn’t had chance to take a close look at the square last time he had been here, with it being crammed to the gunnels with people waiting for Conclave to end.

“Do I need to get something official in writing to get back in if I go out?” he asked the Swiss Guard trailing behind him over his shoulder before going into his room.

“The Holy Father ordered that your name be placed on the approved list at the gate personally, you will not need anything besides ID to get back in,” the guard shrugged.

“Good, thanks,” he nodded, going inside to change.

Two hours later, with a good meal under his belt, he stood under the lights in the square, blessedly free of all but the most dedicated faithful and diehard tourists in the cold air, looking up at the towering Obelisk. He stood still, hands in his pockets and let his eyes scan minutely up the length of the monument, taking in everything before stepping around to do the same with the other three sides, he would have to check again in daylight, but he was fairly sure there was nothing here, nothing on the Obelisk to indicate a seal.

He glanced at the fountains, and bit the inside of his bottom lip thoughtfully, he could make a cursory examination, but really he needed them both off and drained to get a good look at them, he knew Bernini was supposed to have copied Maderno’s fountain exactly to finally achieve the symmetry he wanted, and differences between the two might provide the clues they were looking for. He would have to ask to see Camerlengo Strauss sometime tomorrow, and hope that it wouldn’t cause too much trouble to ask to get the fountains turned off and emptied.

Robert headed back inside, he needed to get a good night’s sleep if he was going to have a chance to have breakfast before meeting with Father Bianchi in front of the archives at 7am again.

/x/

Richter stretched as he pushed back from his desk, he had been working on the evacuation plans the Camerlengo had asked for since late afternoon, and his eyes were gritty and his back aching from being hunched over his desk non-stop. He looked at the clock, and locked the file away, he would get back to it in the morning, when Chartrand came back on duty, the younger man’s input would be useful, and he should have the reports of the men he had sent out to look at the barriers then. He was just about to rise from his desk when he cursed softly, realizing he hadn’t had chance to check the feeds from the cameras he had installed in the Papal apartments yet, to make sure they were functioning correctly, he had gotten distracted by the summons from the Camerlengo after he had finished fitting them.

He weighed the pros and cons of checking now up, there was a good chance that at this time of night, the Holy Father was still in one of his offices, he very rarely bothered retiring before midnight, and technically he wasn’t in breach of his promise not to use it to check up on his Holiness without prior cause, the younger man would know that the system would need to be checked after being installed, it was just the timing that was unfortunate. There was also the fact that right now, the rest of the place was deserted, he was the only one here, in the morning there would be people in and out, making it almost impossible to stop them seeing the hidden setup.

Settling back in his chair, he pulled out the key to the security system, and pressed down on the section of the desk that would raise the screens. He clicked through to find the new cameras, checking the hallway first and seeing nothing moving, so he flicked over to the sitting room.

The Holy Father was there, probably had been for a while, given he was barefoot and dressed in a white t-shirt and black casual trousers. He was also asleep on the sofa, half curled on his side, his arms wrapped around a book on his chest. Richter reached to cut the feed, regretting the unintended invasion of privacy, but stilled before his hand could touch the switch when he saw the Holy Father’s arm move.

The movement was clearly not one made by someone shifting in their sleep, or even waking up, it was the movement of someone manipulating the limbs of someone who was unconscious or sleeping, but there was no-one there to be manipulating his limbs. Both arms were moved out of the way, and the book floated itself to the low table in front of the sofa before the sleeping Pope was shifted into a more comfortable position. Richter stared at the screen, his heart pounding; this didn’t appear to be a threat, a danger to the Pontiff, in fact it looked tender, caring, but it was a clear indication that there was _something_ supernatural occurring around his Holiness, and if there was a benign, protective presence, then it was likely protecting him _against_ something.

He finally hit the cut-off, his hands shaking slightly as he waited for his heart-rate to settle back to somewhere near normal. He was going to have to take his conversation with Strauss, and his evacuation plans, a lot more seriously.

/x/

Martinelli sighed as he settled himself to watch over his son’s sleep, he probably shouldn’t have been so obvious, moving Patrick and the book while knowing Richter was watching, but he needed his old friend to take this more seriously, to undermine his belief that Patrick was allowing grief and stress to unbalance him, he would do as he had always done; everything he could, to protect his son.

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

Patrick shifted as he woke up on the sofa, strangling down a groan of pain at the movement of his injured shoulder, he glanced at the clock over the fireplace as he struggled to sit up without further moving the damaged arm, and quickly calculated that a) he was in pain because he had managed to miss two doses of his pain medication, and b) it was far too late to think about bothering to go to bed, it was coming up on 5am, and he would need to get up in an hour anyway. Sighing, he scrubbed his good hand over his eyes, and then back through his hair, trying to convince himself that he wanted to get moving, his eyes resting blankly on the book that he had been reading the night before for a long moment before he frowned slightly, he could have sworn he was holding that book when he dropped off the night before, and if he had dropped it in his sleep it would be on the floor, not the table, but if someone had come in, they would have woken him up so that he could go to bed.

Shaking it off as no odder than anything else that had happened lately, he made himself get moving, heading to grab his painkillers before even thinking about doing anything else.

He checked his diary as he waited for his breakfast to be brought up, pleased to see that he had nothing particularly demanding scheduled for the day, and no outside meetings at all, so he might actually get a chance to get down to the archives himself, and see what Langdon and Bianchi had found, if anything.

/x/

Cardinal Strauss nodded a distracted greeting to his secretary as the young priest handed him his schedule for the day.

“Cardinal, there was also a message from Professor Langdon this morning, wondering if you would have time to see him today.”

“Can he be fitted in?”

“You would have time for a brief meeting just before lunch, or a slightly longer one at 3pm.”

“Find out which would be most appropriate and slot him in,” he sighed.

“Yes Eminence,” the young man nodded, making a note.

Strauss nodded and went into his office, preparing to get the day under way.

/x/

Robert and Father Bianchi were on their way down to the archives when the messenger from the Camerlengo’s office caught up with him, and Robert could see Bianchi watching curiously as he made his appointment.

“Do you know if they ever drain the fountains in the square?” Langdon asked Bianchi once the messenger was gone, still wondering how likely it was that he would get his request approved.

“Yes, they are drained regularly for cleaning. They must be about due again, in the next month or so, at least. Why?”

“Because I need to look at them, properly, compare them to each other, and the designs in the archives. Maderno’s fountain or the obelisk are the keys to what we’re looking for, I’m almost sure of that, from that passage you found yesterday, forbidding that they be moved. We should focus on them today, if we can, instead of the square as a whole.”

“I don’t know if there is much from Maderno in the archive,” Bianchi said, thoughtfully.

“Well, hopefully there will be something on his fountain at the very least.”

“Do you want me to take you to Maderno now then?”

“Actually, do you think you could take Maderno, and I’ll stick with Bernini, and we could compare notes before we break for lunch?”

Bianchi gave him a dark look, clearly not enthused at the idea of leaving Langdon unattended in the archives, even if he was only in another vault.

“Look, I know you don’t trust me, but despite the evidence of last year, I have a lot of respect for the documents stored here, and I wouldn’t deliberately damage one without extreme provocation, and as I don’t think anyone is going to be trying  to kill me this time, I can treat them with the respect they deserve. I wouldn’t push on this, I would prefer to have your trust, but I don’t think we have a lot of time to find what we need, and we can’t afford to waste what time we have.”

“Fine, if you give your word that you will not damage the documents, I will do as you suggest,” Bianchi sighed, not sure why he was giving in on this issue, beyond the sense of urgency evident in the fact the American’s access had been granted by the Holy Father personally, and that he had managed to get an appointment with the Camerlengo without being made to wait days.

“You have my word,” Langdon said seriously.

Giving Langdon another long look, Bianchi let him into the archive they had been in the day before, and then took himself off to see what they had on Maderno.

Robert moved over to the shelves, taking down the file he had been looking at the day before and carrying it carefully to the table, before going back to look at the other labels, to see if there was anything else that would obviously tie in.

/x/

Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose as his last appointment of the morning left, and was contemplating an early lunch when the internal line on his desk started to ring.

“Yes?” he said wearily after picking up the receiver.

“Holiness, Commandant Richter is here, he wonders if you could spare him a moment?” his secretary asked.

“Fine, send him in,” he sighed.

Patrick noticed that Richter looked rather uncomfortable as he came into the room and made his reverence.

“Sit down Commandant, tell me what’s wrong,” he said.

Richter sank into the indicated chair, looking down at the rug for a long moment, before looking up, still looking uncomfortable.

“First, Holy Father, we have completed the evacuation plan for the square, in the event anything should happen.”

“Good.” Patrick nodded, wondering if that was what was causing the man’s discomfort, the fear that he was somehow encouraging delusional behaviour in an unbalanced Pontiff, or if there was something else going on.

“There is something I need to speak of with you, a confession, if you will,” he said, finally meeting Patrick’s eyes without looking like he wanted to flee the room.

“I’m listening,” Patrick said, resting his unrestrained arm along the edge of his desk.

“Last night, after speaking with the Camerlengo, I will admit that I was rather…dubious…about the nature of what I had been told, and how it reflected on, um,” he hesitated, and Patrick stepped into the breach.

“You were dubious how it reflected on my sanity, yes, I would be shocked if you had not suffered some doubts in that direction. Something has changed your mind?” he queried.

“Yes. After leaving the Camerlengo’s office, I started working on the evacuation plan, as directed, and I realized when I was getting ready to leave, quite late on, that I had forgotten to check the feeds from the cameras I had installed in your apartments. I thought about leaving it for today, but decided that it would be better to check them while the squad room was deserted, I had no intention at all of breaching your privacy, I honestly didn’t expect you to be there, late as it was.”

“That’s all right; I would have made the same decision.”

“Thank you. You were on the sofa in the sitting room; it looked as if you had fallen asleep reading. I was about to turn off the camera and erase the footage of my unintentional invasion of your privacy when I saw…”

“Saw what, Commandant?” he pressed when the man fell silent.

“You were completely alone in that room, I would swear to that, but someone, some _thing_ took the book out of your arms and moved it to the table, moved you into a more comfortable position…” he sighed again and held up  a disk.

“I already deleted the original recording, ahead of the promised schedule for clearing them, but I didn’t know if you would want to see or not.”

“We’ll go to my informal office, there is a laptop in there you can play it on,” he said, rising to his feet.

A short time later, he sat in silence, unable to tear his eyes away from the now static image on the screen, he knew, he knew without a doubt the identity of the presence Richter had caught on camera.

“Papá,” the involuntary whisper startled Richter.

“Holiness?” he queried uncertainly.

“Nothing, thank you for bringing this to me Commandant, it is reassuring to know that not all of the presences around when I sleep have malevolent intent,” was all he said.

He had no intention of explaining to Richter that his father was the only person who would never wake him or leave him if he fell asleep over a book like that, unless he had no 0ption, preferring instead to rescue the book and make sure he was comfortable.

“Was there anything else you needed to talk to me about today?” he asked, finally pulling his eyes away from the screen.

“No, that was all, Holy Father.”

Patrick nodded and dismissed him, reaching out to shut the top of the computer when he was gone, he would process how he felt about his father still watching over him later, but for right now, he needed to get some lunch before his afternoon meetings.

/x/

Camerlengo Strauss looked up as a somewhat harried looking Langdon was shown into his office by his secretary, nodding a greeting.

“Professor, how goes your research?” he asked, indicating he should take the chair across the desk from him.

“Not brilliantly, Father Bianchi and I are working on both Maderno and Bernini now, but aside from the section in Bernini’s diary that said the Pope of the time had forbidden touching the fountain or the obelisk when he commissioned the square, we haven’t come up with anything odd yet. That’s kind of why I asked to see you though, his insistence that they not be touched suggests deeper investigation of the fountains and the obelisk should be undertaken. I understand that the fountains out there are periodically drained for cleaning, I was hoping that there was some way to get that done now, so that I could examine them properly and fully.”

“How important do you really think it is?”

“Frankly, I think it’s the best chance we have, we could be months going through papers down there, and I don’t think we have months. I would like it better if we could find out what made the Pope give the order that the two not be disturbed, but it is still the best, really the only, lead we have.”

Strauss sighed and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth for a moment, looking at him.

“I know that the fountains are scheduled for cleaning before the anniversary, I will see if I can have it moved up,” he finally agreed.

“Thank you.”

Langdon left, and Strauss set about trying to get the cleaning of the fountains brought forward.

/x/

Robert had been back down in the archives for over an hour when he heard the vault door trigger, and a black cassock moved into his peripheral vision. He looked up, expecting to see Father Bianchi, and met the amused grey eyes of the Pontiff.

“Uh…” he stuttered, standing up quickly.

“Don’t mind me, I just came down to see how it was going,” Patrick smiled, sliding into one of the chairs around the table and gesturing for Robert to retake his seat. He did so, wondering as he did why on Earth the pontiff was wandering around with no obvious guards and wearing an ordinary cassock.

“Not brilliantly, I spoke to the Camerlengo a little while ago about pursuing a lead we picked up. Without knowing for sure what we’re looking for here, we’re basically searching in the dark.”

Patrick sighed and nodded, unsurprised, he suspected that this was heading rapidly towards the prophesied moment, and there was little or nothing they could do wait.

“Would you be able to find out from your colleagues when exactly they expect this star they discovered to be visible to the naked eye?” he asked quietly.

“I could ask them, but they would likely want to know _why_ I’m asking.”

“I am sure you could think of some explanation to satisfy them. We need some idea how long we might have to prepare.”

“You don’t think we’re going to be able to stop this, do you?”

“No, I don’t intend to stop trying, but no,” Patrick murmured softly, his fingers twitching at the strap of his sling for a moment, and Robert noticed absently that it, like the cassock, was now black, so as not to stand out.

The vault door opened again, Bianchi stepping in with a journal cradled carefully in his hands, and Langdon got a sudden insight into the answer to his earlier, unasked question when the archivist’s eyes slid over the other priest with no sign of recognition. Robert started to open his mouth to say something, but closed it again at a tiny headshake from the redhead across from him.

“I don’t know if this qualifies as an oddity, if it’s what you’re looking for, but there are some interesting entries in Maderno’s journal,” Bianchi said, taking the other seat at the table and gently opening the journal to a page marked with acid free paper, one of several, Robert noted.

“Firstly, the fountain out there is not the one he originally designed for the square, he had a completed design ready for submission, the entry rambles a little, but it indicates he threw that design aside and started again on the strength of a dream he had. It seems to have unsettled him somewhat, his journal entries up to that point were concise and direct, and after, they _all_ tended to be rambling, lacking in information, though it seemed to get worse as the project continued, by the time the fountain was ready for installation, few of his entries made much sense at all.”

“What are the other pages you have marked?” Robert asked.

Turning to the next marked entry, Bianchi tapped the page very lightly.

“Here he speaks of the fountain being installed, reaching completion, but he says that he hopes they will let him sleep now, that they will be satisfied and leave his nights in peace.”

That got a soft snort from Patrick; he could empathize with the long dead man’s wish. Bianchi didn’t even glance up from the journal at the sound, mistaking it for disbelief, instead turning to the last marked place.

“Four months pass after the installation with no mention of anything but refused commissions, in writing that is not his, and then, he just picks up and goes on as he was before beginning work on the fountain, no more mentions of dreams, of the fountain, or of anything connected with it. It would almost seem that he erased all memory of it.”

“Perhaps he did, but it definitely suggests I am on the right track in asking the Camerlengo to get me access to examine the fountains properly,” Robert mused, earning a raised eyebrow from Patrick, who hadn’t heard about that.

“Keep me informed, I should go before they realize I’m not where they think I am,” Patrick said, rising gracefully and slipping out of the vault.

Bianchi looked up at the departing figure, his face paling as he registered the _voice_ of the priest he hadn’t recognized.

“That was…”

“Yes, don’t let it freak you out; he didn’t want to be recognized. Come on; let’s see if we can find anything else.”

Patrick knew he had shocked the young archivist, but there wasn’t much he could do about that now, he re-opened the hidden doorway he had entered the archives through, vanishing into the maze of passages once more.

tbc

 


End file.
